


You Never Write

by 36and40



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Control Kink, Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Hand Job, Impala Sex, Intimate touching, M/M, Motel Room Sex, Motorcycle Kink, Sam/Dean - Freeform, Top!Sam, Wincest - Freeform, angst-free (mostly), kitchette sex, suggestive text messaging, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/36and40/pseuds/36and40
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PART 3 of the "Right" Trilogy</p><p>This story takes place two years after "Right".  Time to check in on how things are going for Sam and Dean now that everything is out in the open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Never Write

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my beta soncnica. Best...beta...ever. You made this story better, as always. You're my coach and cheerleader all rolled into one. And thanks to my unnamed friend and fellow slash fan for her constant support.

 

 _"U never right"_ Dean read, squinting at the screen of his cell phone as he tried to drive.  

 

The caller ID read "Sammy" and there was an attachment.  Dean quickly pulled over and clicked on it to find his phone screen filled with a picture of a very large, very erect penis. He choked out a laugh and pecked, _"what do u mean?  im always right.  why r u sending me some guys dick?  u know im not in 2 that"_

 

He waited.

 

The phone buzzed again with Sam's reply, _"fuckin autocorrect...meant 2 say 'U never write'."_

 

D:   _miss me sammy?_

 

S:   _bad_

 

D:   _why the dick?_

 

S:   _testing u - wondered if u would notice it wasnt mine_

 

D:   _i could find ur cock in the dark blindfolded_

 

S:   _i think u have b4_

 

D:   _yours is so much better_

 

S:  :)

 

D:   _u better not ve taken that photo urself_

 

S:  _s'called 'internet porn' - maybe u've heard of it_

 

D:  _I would never_

 

S:   _u would always_

 

D:   _bitch_

 

S:   _jerk_

 

Damn, he missed Sam.  They'd only been apart for ten days but it felt like twice that much time had passed.  This was what passed for flirting between them nowadays and Dean could do this all day long.

 

S:   _u'd better not b texting & driving_

 

D:   _pulled over - I swear_

 

S:   _okay -  get off at the nxt st. park sign_

 

D:   _get off while i drive?  that'd b dangerous_

 

S:  _TURN off_

 

D:  _turn off?  me?  gotta say i'm kinda hurt by that_

 

S:  _stop it.  TURN OFF THE ROAD AT THE NXT ST PARK SIGN_

 

D:   _why?_

 

S:   _trust me_

 

Sam probably knew where he was; they had installed satellite tracking on both cars. Dean checked the app on his phone and the car Sam was using now said it was parked back at the bunker.

 

D:  _u home?_

 

S:   _nope_

 

D:   _where r u?_

 

S:   _tell u in a minute.  take the st. park turn off_

 

D:  _password?_

 

Dean wasn't going to get lured into a trap if someone had stolen Sam's phone...just the idea of some stranger reading the messages they sent each other made his blood run cold.

 

S:   _‘fuck me hard’_

 

D:   _if u insist_

 

S:   _s'last time I let u make up the password_

 

It was juvenile, of course, but Dean smiled at making Sam say it.  It was really Sam.   _His_ Sam.  Bright.  Perfect.  Safe.

 

D:   _where u taking me, Sammy?_

 

S:   _just someplace i want u 2 see_

 

D:   _how far?_

 

S:   _about 10 min from where u r_

 

D:   _talk 2 me till then?_

 

S:   _gotta go.  call me when u turn off the road_

 

Dean furrowed his brow.  What was Sam up to?  If he weren't missing him so much he would’ve told him he didn't have the time.  He really needed to get to Genesee before dark.  But if Sam wanted to show him something...damn he missed him.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean eased his baby off the highway and onto a dirt road next to the "Roxborough State Park" sign.  He sent Sam a quick message, _"almost there"._   He didn't want to throw any rocks, so he drove slowly.  He rounded the corner, driving into a clearing and getting a glimpse of a pretty sweet overlook to the mountains about thirty miles away.  And there was some dude.  Sitting on a motorcycle with his back to him wearing a knit hat, helmet resting on the backrest of the passenger seat.

 

Fuck.  Dean really wasn't in the mood for company.  Then the guy turned around.

 

It was so unexpected, he thought he might be seeing things.   _Sammy?_

 

Sam smiled a sly smile and slowly got up off the bike, rising to his full height, a good four inches taller than his brother.

 

Dean threw the car into park and was out the door almost before the Impala had a chance to stop moving.  He couldn't get next to Sam fast enough, couldn't put his hands behind his neck and get his lips on his brother's fast enough.  He wanted to touch Sam everywhere.  Wanted to smell him and taste him and relearn every angle of his brother’s body by feel.  Or taste. Chart it like a topographic map.  Of course he knew Sam's body like the back of his own hand, but after ten days...it felt like an eternity. There might be some new bruise or scar that he didn't know about and he suddenly felt the urgent need to know everything there was to know about Sam's body.  

 

Dean felt like he was getting to breathe pure oxygen for a few moments; straight from his brother's lungs and into his own.  That's the effect Sam had on him.  

 

"Missed you," Dean whispered into Sam's mouth.   His brother responded with a searching tongue and Dean pressed in harder.

 

When they stopped for breath, there was a smile on Sam's face, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes, "Missed you too.  Couldn't wait."

 

Dean's heart expanded in his chest.  He would never get over the miracle of the fact that Sam wanted him as much as he wanted Sam.  Now that everything was out in the open. Now that they were an "us".  Dean marveled at it on a daily basis.

 

Sam took him by the wrists, leading his hands to the hem of the jacket, pressing them against his body just above his hipbones.  

 

Just having Sam's hands guiding his; those hands that could end life or save life with equal dexterity.  His brother's powerful hands could haul Dean up and out of the dirt on a salt-and-burn by his bicep (and Dean wasn't small).  They could haul him back from the edge of despair just by closing over his forearm to keep him from taking one drink too many; reminding him that someone cared about him more than he cared about himself. They could give him release when they closed around his cock (and he wasn't small _there_ either, damn straight); squeezing and stroking in the way that always completely undid him; something no one else had ever quite been able to master.  Having Sam guide him like that let him know that his brother was just as eager; that he was as essential to Sam as Sam was to him. 

 

This was, in no way, a one-way street.  

 

The simple gesture carried so much weight and Dean was floored every…single…time…that Sam needed this.   

 

It took every ounce of strength Dean had to ask the question stuck in his mind and not just forget about it in favor of letting Sam lead him wherever he wanted.

 

"Whoa, hold 'er there tiger," Dean pulled back a bit.  A questioning look crossed Sam's face.  "What the fuck is this?"  Dean gestured to the bike.  "And you...in a leather jacket? How long was I gone?"

 

Sam smiled and it lit up the entire clearing.  At least it did as far as Dean was concerned. There hadn't been nearly enough smiles like this from Sam over the years.  He was pretty sure Sam had spent at least a decade faking it...when all he could get out of him were tight, forced grins that broke his heart.  This one was real and, thank God, this was par for the course these days.  Dean never gave himself credit when his brother smiled like this, but he should have.  Their new normal was the reason.

 

"The guys I helped on that job last week.  They were...grateful," Sam beamed.

 

"I didn't even know you knew how to ride one of these things," Dean said in disbelief.

 

"Didn't," Sam said with pride, "got a crash course.  The guy said that if I was going after the ghost of a biker, I needed to fit in."

 

Dean just shook his head.  He had never imagined that Sam, who wasn't even all that crazy about cars, would go for a bike.  Hell, Sam looked ridiculous on a horse; the proportions were just all wrong.  But Sam, with a bike growling and vibrating between those long, muscular thighs.  Oh yeah, Dean could see it.  He was fucking jealous of that bike already because if Sam wanted to straddle something, well, Dean had other ideas and it didn't involve anything with an engine.  His brother had always been a fast learner and he had no doubt that he'd gotten the hang of it after a few lessons; probably had the mechanics and the "why" of it down within half an hour.  Dean figured that there probably wasn't anything that bike did that Sam couldn't control absolutely and effortlessly.  The thought of Sam in absolute control like that made him weak in the knees.

 

"Do you...like it?" Sam asked, half self-conscious, half unbearably suggestive.  "The uh, the jacket reminded me of you.  How you used to feel in dad's," Sam looked down.  Dean knew it wasn't dad's jacket that did it for Sam; it wasn't like that.  It was how Sam felt about Dean and _when_ he started feeling that way...right before Dean started wearing that jacket.  Dean and that jacket were basically imprinted on Sam's DNA.  Dean stifled the smile that threatened to break out; knowing Sam was wearing this because he missed him and wanted to be reminded of any of the hundreds of moments throughout his life where Dean, in that jacket, had made everything feel better.

 

Dean lifted Sam's chin back up until their eyes were locked again.  "I always thought I'd be the one with the bike, but, yeah, I...like...it."   The way Dean punctuated each word left no doubt as to what he had been thinking.  He moved back in and put his hands where Sam wanted them; at the top of his waistband.  He pushed them up, under Sam's jacket and felt nothing but warm skin over muscle; smooth in the dry western air.  He raised an eyebrow.

 

"Well, you called ahead," Sam answered Dean's wordless question.

 

Dean's eyes burned with the knowledge that Sam had planned this...couldn't wait...wanted to be skin-to-skin with his brother without a wasted second.  He grabbed the zipper on the jacket and pulled forcefully, exposing what seemed like an acre of Sam's chest.  He ran his hands over his brother's stomach, feeling the ridges of that work-of-art body rippling under his fingertips like a rutted washboard back road.  He snaked lower to the sharp "V" of muscle just inside his brother's hip bones which pointed in the direction Dean wanted to touch more than anything.   _Not too fast.._.he wanted to enjoy this.  He lowered his head to get his lips around one of Sam's nipples.  That elicited a throaty "Jesus Christ," from his brother who now had his fingers tangled in the back of Dean's longer-than-usual hair.  He'd been on the road awhile and hadn't had time for a haircut, self-inflicted or otherwise.

 

Sam grunted and tugged, encouraging him to give the other nipple some attention.  Dean went without a word.  Went because he always wanted to give Sam everything.  Went because ten days away from his brother made him start to doubt if he was good enough for him; if Sam would wake up someday and see Dean the way Dean saw himself and get the hell out of Dodge but maybe if he could keep making Sam understand how much he needed him, maybe then Sam would stay.  Went because he knew, deep down, he belonged to Sam heart and soul and he might pretend he was in control, but he would always do anything Sam wanted.  He was rewarded for his efforts with an, "Oh God, Dean, yeah."  

 

He kissed up Sam's chest and sucked hard where his brother's neck met his shoulder; a sweet, leather-smelling junction of skin and muscle that tasted like road dust and salt and belonging.  Sam's pulse raced close to Dean's lips, reassuring Dean that he was doing everything right.  He could feel Sam's cock straining against his fly, pressing against his own impressive hard on.  He whispered in Sam's ear, "How 'bout it, Sammy, you want me to fuck you over this bike right now?"  

 

Sam gasped and shuddered "Gonna make me come, you keep talking like that," he took a deep breath.

 

"That's the plan," Dean drawled, deep and dirty.

 

"Not....not out here," Sam struggled to speak, "Wanna ride you," he confessed, "Can't stop thinking about you under me."

 

Now it was Dean's turn, "Jesus fuck, Sammy," he cursed as he felt a slick wetness surge from his own cock.  They were still fully clothed and they were both about to explode from sheer want.  "How long you been thinkin' about me under you, huh?"  He brazenly pressed his palm against his brother's crotch and slowly rubbed up and down; thoroughly enjoying how crazy it was making both of them.  Sam's cock had always been impressive and now it was trying its best to force its way above his  waistband and Dean's mouth watered as he felt his brother lengthen under his touch.  "So you wanna ride me like that bike, little brother?  That what you want?"

 

Sam was almost past the point of forming actual words.  "Harder," was all he could get out.  Dean didn't know if he meant he wanted to ride him harder or wanted to be rubbed harder.  Either way, he was ready to get this show on the road before he came in his shorts.

 

"Now," Dean's commanding tone let Sam know he agreed with the plan and Sam allowed himself to be dragged by the wrist to the Impala.  Dean paused when he reached the back driver's side door, dropping Sam's wrist, stripping off his own shirt and kicking free of his boots before tumbling into the back, ass-first.  Sam followed his brother's lead, tossing his jacket aside.  

 

Dean stretched the full length of the Impala's bench seat.  He let his denim-clad legs fall apart; one foot down on the floorboard, his other knee bent, leaning up against the backrest, and looked up at his brother, one part cocky, two parts hot as fuck. "Climb on, cowboy," he growled, a slight challenge to his voice.  If they hadn't been caught up in the heat of the moment, it might have made Sam laugh, but Sam wasn't laughing.  He swallowed hard, taking in the view of his brother laid out on the seat for him.   _Inviting_ him. The long curving hard line at his brother's crotch ran parallel to his fly and Dean stared into Sam's eyes as he ran his hand down its length. Dean sensed the hesitation, "Something wrong?" he asked, slight concern coloring his voice.  

 

Sam let out a small, disbelieving breath.  "I just can't believe it sometimes, you know? This..." he trailed off.

 

Dean's concerned expression softened, "I'm the lucky one," he said with a sincerity that made Sam will down the lump in this throat.

 

Just like that, the cocky returned,  "For a second there I thought you were waiting for an engraved invitation, princess."   _Now_ Sam laughed, bent low, and climbed in.  

 

As soon as Dean could get a hand on Sam's forearm he pulled his brother down on top of him.  Sam landed between Dean's thighs, his full weight distributed evenly down the length of his brother's body, his long fingers snaking up on either side of Dean's face, turning his head slightly to get the perfect angle for his tongue to surge past those full lips.  

 

Dean groaned, opening his mouth for Sam, while working a hand down between them.  He popped open his brother's button fly with ease, feeling Sam's cock spring free.  "Commando, Sammy?" he smirked.

 

Sam swallowed hard, "Didn't wanna waste time.  Already been too long."

 

"Amen," Dean pulled Sam back down into another kiss while working Sam's jeans, then his own Levi's and briefs, with Sam's help, down past his hips and onto who-the-hell-cares-where someplace on the floorboard of the Impala.  It was cramped and maybe less than ideal if it had been anyone with a different last name in there.   Sam's right knee was jammed between Dean's hip and the Impala's back rest with his left knee barely hanging on to the few inches of seat cushion on the other side of his brother, and Dean had to angle his body towards the back rest to even give Sam that much real estate.  Good thing Sam had amazing muscle control; it was a bit of a balancing act, but there was nowhere that felt safer and in this crazy life of theirs; the rarity of safety was as much of a turn-on as the guarantee of danger.  This car was their home.  In Dean's mind, it was one of only two things he could count on with utter certainty and the other one was currently straddling him; that made it the only place that he wanted to do this with Sam right now.

 

"God, Sammy," Dean moaned as their cocks slid together rubbing against each other, hot and hard and long and slick from the foreplay.  Dean wanted to lose himself in Sam. Tongue sought out tongue, cock sought out cock, Sam’s thighs gripped his hips.   Their bodies touched in as many places as possible and Dean felt Sam's heat and mass blanket him in overwhelming security and strength.

 

"Want you in me, Dean," Sam was breathing hard already.  "Wanna feel you so fucking deep."

 

"You're gonna have to stop talking like that, little brother, or I'm not gonna last much lo- "  Dean was cut off mid-sentence by Sam reaching back, followed by the feel of a powerful grip wrapping around his cock.  Clear fluid surged over Sam's hand, filling the crevices between his fingers.  His fist was firm and slippery as he stroked Dean several times to slick his brother up, pressing the wide head of Dean's cock into his palm and rubbing in small circles that had Dean grabbing at his brother's hips and fighting the sudden, intense urge to give it up right then and there.

 

"Perfect," Sam sighed in a hushed tone, "so fucking perfect," and without further warning, he pressed Dean's cock to the spot behind his balls, the spot that yielded to Dean, and only to Dean.  Every. Single. Time.

 

"Ready, huh Sammy?" Dean gasped out, his cock feeling the slight resistance.

 

Sam managed a cocky smile, "Born ready - AH!" he gasped as Dean held his hips and pulled down, simultaneously thrusting upward as slowly as he could stand it, feeling Sam close around his entire, thick length.  

 

"God," Dean groaned as he bottomed out, his balls tucked snugly against Sam's body.  Slowly, inexorably, Sam rose up on his strong thighs and started to rock back and forth on Dean's constantly leaking cock.  Dean opened his eyes even though the pleasure of Sam's body gripping him tight and hot made it near-impossible.  Sam was looking down at him, lips parted, long hair swaying in time with his body.  Sam took Dean's wrists and pressed them into the Impala's door panel over his head.  Dean thought that if someone could take a picture of all he ever wanted in this world, it would be what he was seeing above him right now; the look on Sam's face.  Sam's eyes were piercing in their intensity, his brow creasing with concentration then relaxing into total, blissful enjoyment.  He was looking at Dean like he was the most precious thing in existence.  The only thing.  Dean didn't give a fuck if there even _was_ a world anymore beyond the Impala's steel embrace.

 

Dean tried to focus on what Sam was saying, "So gorgeous, Dean, God, love you so much.  So fucking deep, Jesus Christ, harder -"

 

As much as Dean loved Sam pinning him down and setting the pace, he would always give Sam what he asked for.  He easily shook free of Sam's light grasp and reached up to get a hand behind his neck.  He pulled him down for a kiss, causing Sam to shift higher.  His brother's body was stretched out above his, thighs spread as wide as possible within the restrictive confines of the back seat, allowing Dean to fuck up into him at his own intense pace. 

 

Sam braced himself over his brother and felt Dean's cock hit his prostate with every thrust.  

 

"Let go, Sammy," Dean breathed into his brother's mouth, "I gotcha."  Dean forcefully pulled Sam's lips to his and filled his brother's mouth with his own tongue, feeling the vibration of every "ah, ah, ah" that rhythmically escaped his brother’s throat as he drove deep over and over.  "So close," Dean whispered, "This what you wanted, Sammy?  God, so fucking good,"

 

Dean closed his eyes and used every one of his other senses to feel Sam surround him. Sam's tongue against his, Sam's breath in his lungs as he forced it from him with every powerful thrust of his hips.  Sam's hair falling around his face from above, adding another layer of privacy between them and the outside world.  His brother's body gripped his cock with the perfect friction, perfect heat.  Nothing in his life ever came close to this and if he died right now, he'd be okay with that. 

 

 "Yeah, Dean, oh God....oh God, just like that...God, don't stop, fuck -"

 

Dean could tell by the way he had to work harder to go as deep as he wanted that Sam was right on the edge.  He could feel his brother's body grasping him; reluctant to let go whenever he pulled out on the backstroke. Dean worked a hand between their sweat-slicked bodies, closing his fist around as much of the length of his brother's rigid and straining cock as possible; so hard and erect that it pressed up tight against Sam’s stomach.  He felt Sam rock down forcefully, their balls yielding to each other as Dean pulled him deeper with his free hand and all of his strength; an iron grip on his Sam's hip; brushing past his prostate at the perfect angle.  He watched, transfixed, as Sam arched back, squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth.

 

 "Dean!"

 

It sounded like a sacred confession to Dean's ears and he felt his hand covered in hot, thick, perfect liquid _Sam_.   Sam's final downward press and his impossibly deep need to take his brother like this; to join them as one and erase the line that marked them as two different souls; hit Dean like a scattershot of sharp sparks across the surface of his entire body.  

 

"Oh, God, fuck," he exploded into his brother in an electrical storm of heat and wetness and sweet, heavy release.  Sam collapsed on top of him blissfully trapping his cock deep inside the blindingly hot furnace that was his brother’s body.  

 

Sam nuzzled his nose against Dean's neck, licking a stripe through the salty sweat.  "Love it when we, you know, together," he sighed.

 

Dean smiled a sated smile.  "Practice makes perfect, Sammy."

 

"So," Sam said quietly as he started to move to disentangle their bodies; muscles twitching from the strain.  Dean wrapped his arms around him and held him still, not quite ready to let this be over yet, "there's a motel about half an hour up the road...."

 

"Sammy, you know I gotta get to Genesee...." Dean said with his voice full of regret.

 

"Maybe you could call them...get there one day late?  Take a night off with me?"

 

Dean would never have done this three years ago.  The job was first.  That unbreakable law had ruled his entire life, drilled into him by his father.  Everyone else comes before you. Even then, there was no question that Sam came first for him.  Always.  Before everything else.  But he'd spent so many years in motel rooms with his brother, wanting something so desperately that he knew he'd never have, and now that he had it, he was willing to give himself a little slack once in awhile.  A night off.  He fucking deserved it.

 

"Yeah, I'd like that," Dean said, loosening his grip on Sam slightly.

 

Sam smiled and sharply sucked in his breath as Dean carefully withdrew, followed by a thick, milky white rush.  Sam still straddled him so he couldn't resist reaching down and gently circling the ring of soaking wet, dripping muscle.  His brother groaned and moved in response to his touch. There weren't any words now as Dean carefully rubbed Sam where he was most sensitive, eliciting small, hot as hell contented sounds.  Sam was starting to press against him again.  Dean had intended for this to bring his brother down, not work him up, but the desire to touch the place where they'd been connected and to feel his own release _there_ ; the evidence of Sam wanting and trusting him like that, it was primal; something he did without thinking.  Dean could touch his brother anywhere he wanted and there wasn't any fear or hesitation.  It was a fucking beautiful thing.  A true miracle as far as Dean was concerned.

 

He hadn't planned on going at it again quite this soon, though it would have been easier than he could have imagined, so Dean changed course, lightly raking his nails up Sam's back, causing his brother to shiver in response.  "We should save a little for later."

 

"You're killing me," Sam groaned as Dean distracted him with a kiss.

 

"It'll be worth it," Dean said in a voice heavy with promise.  "Trust me."

 

"Always," Sam replied with quiet conviction.  Sam trusting Dean was a law of nature.  A universal truth.  A provable equation.  

 

Sam + Dean = Trust

 

Dean felt around under the passenger seat and snagged a small duffle he kept there containing everything from road flares to an emergency whisky flask to, well, stuff that might come in handy when you needed to get cleaned up.  He'd started traveling with it because, sometimes, a phone call from Sam would start with a hit off the flask and end with Dean coming like a freight train and a tissue just didn't seem up to the task.  He grabbed a towel and a pack of wet wipes.  Everything was a bit messy, but so completely worth it.  Bareback with Sam was as close to a religious experience as Dean ever got. Nothing made Dean come harder or feel everything in high definition overdrive more than this.  He wished he could make a career out of it.  

 

Dean was vaguely aware, as he dug out the duffle, that Sam was laughing quietly and teasing him about being such a Boy Scout; always prepared.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sam climbed out and unfolded himself on shaky legs, leaning against the car and taking a deep breath of the pine forest around them as he cleaned the last trace of come off of his chest.  It was starting to get dark.  He gave Dean a hand and hauled him to his feet.  Sam leaned back down inside the passenger door to unearth Dean's boxers from the floor and Dean couldn't resist giving his brother a smack on the ass.  When he put it out there like that he was just _asking_ for it.  Sam held Dean's briefs over his head and just out of reach to get back at him for that smack, until Dean took the low road and tickled Sam's ribs causing him to double over, bringing the boxers within grabbing range.

 

They stepped back into their jeans.

 

"M starving, Sammy," Dean ran his hand through his hair.  "and I look like a fuckin' hippie," he complained.  

 

"I like it," Sam reached up to rub the back of Dean's neck and Dean leaned into his touch, wanting more.  Always wanting more.  "There's a roadhouse I passed near the motel; let's grab some food and then..."

 

"Say no more," Dean smiled.  

 

"C'mere for a minute first," Sam grabbed Dean's wrist, preventing him from climbing into the driver’s seat and heading out, leading him to the overlook instead.  It was beautiful. Quiet except for the soft shush of the wind through the pines.  "Get on," he said, gesturing to the bike.

 

"I don't ride bitch, Sammy," Dean regarded the motorcycle skeptically.

 

"You keep telling yourself that."  Sam rolled his eyes, "shut up and take the front seat."

 

Dean threw his leg over the bike and settled in, "Not bad," he said approvingly, "Do I look like Brando?"

 

"Exactly," Sam humored him.  Dean balanced the bike and Sam climbed on behind which probably would have looked pretty comical if anyone had been around to see it. Sam's long legs stretched almost to the front pegs.  He crowded up against Dean's back and Dean leaned into him.  They sat in silence, watching the sun go down over the mountains that stretched, limitless, before them.    Dean wished time could stretch out just as endlessly.  He wanted to stay like this; pressed against his brother's chest, smelling the pine needles mixed with scent of sex combined with this love he never thought he'd have.  It was...perfect.

 

When the sun dipped below the horizon, Dean felt Sam shiver and Sam heard Dean's stomach rumble.  Dean threw an arm back, behind Sam's neck, causing his overshirt to fall to his bicep.  Sam lowered his head and kissed the soft skin on the inside of Dean's elbow, sending a shiver down his spine.  They rarely let themselves be like this together; out in public; acting on their craving for these intimate, small gestures that most people who needed each other this way took for granted.  It went so deep; Dean guarded his moments like this with Sam with intense privacy.  He never wanted to risk a stranger seeing them; wondering or questioning.  He'd defend Sam to the death but this thing between them was beyond words and even though it was so much better now; now that there was this understanding and acceptance of what they really always had been to each other, it was too overwhelming and too essential and he didn't want to cheapen it by having to name it or justify it or accidentally share any of it with anyone who might happen to see them together.  Fuck everyone else.  But there was no one around.  He didn't have to defend anything right now, for once.  He could just be.  Dean closed his eyes and sighed; accepting whatever Sam wanted to give him.  He wished it could be like this every day.  

 

"Let's go find you some food," Sam reluctantly let go of Dean and the cold air rushed into the empty space behind him that had been warm safety seconds before.

 

"Lead the way Evil Knevil," Dean smirked.

 

"Could that reference _be_ any older?" Sam criticized.

 

Dean got serious for a second, "Just...be careful on that thing, okay?"

 

"Okay."

 

“Lead the way, Sammy.”

 

Dean made his way, slowly, back to the Impala, turning once to see Sam leaning on the bike, watching him walk away, smiling like he was enjoying the view.  His brother made the spectacular scenery around them pale in comparison.  Dean knew he was hopeless where Sam was concerned.  He was so far gone.  He didn't know where all of his legendary rugged individualism had disappeared to, but he belonged to Sam in a way he would never admit.  He smiled as he heard Sam fire up the bike just as the Impala rumbled to life. 

 

Sam skillfully maneuvered the bike into view, kicking it into second…accelerating into third; taking off in an unspoken challenge. _“So much for being careful,”_ Dean grumbled to himself, hitting the gas. Hey, a challenge was a challenge. At least Sam was wearing a helmet. Watching his brother’s control over the roaring machine, engine purring in submission between his thighs; Dean was already getting hard again.

 

____________________________________________________

 

 

Dean collected a cold beer for himself and one for Sam from the bartender and headed over to their booth.  He took a seat, watching Sam, across the room, sitting casually on the edge of the pool table talking up the next guy he was going to take for every dollar he had.  He thought back to their last day in the bunker together a few weeks ago.

 

"A _biker_ gang, Sam?" he asked incredulously.  "You really think I'm going to let you walk into the Sons of Anarchy alone?"

 

Sam sighed.  "It's not an _outlaw_ biker gang," he huffed in exasperation, "it's a motorcycle _club_.  They do rides to honor veterans and poker runs to fundraise for children's hospitals.  Garth said Hawk is good people."

 

"Seriously, 'Hawk'?" Dean mocked.

 

"Garth said his real name's Eugene, so, yeah, I think I'd take 'Hawk' too," Sam smirked.

 

"Good point," Dean agreed.

 

"Garth said it sounds like a straight-up vengeful spirit.  I know you gotta be in Genesee next week.  I can handle this."

 

Dean looked skeptical.  "I don't like you working alone."

 

"I know, but, really, I got this,"  Sam insisted.  "You already said you wanted to do the Genesee job alone."

 

"Only because it's gonna be a cakewalk, and you're in the middle of studying for the LSAT's...."

 

"And I'm gonna lose my fucking mind if I have to sit here studying for another two weeks straight," Sam groused.  "It'd be fast.  In and out.  C'mon Dean, I need a break.  Why am I even asking?  Dean, I'm taking a break.  I'm going,"

 

Dean sighed.  "Just...don't be a stranger, okay; let me know how it's going, alright?"

 

"Same goes for you."

 

"Deal."

 

Dean was jolted back to the present by Sam sitting down heavily next to him.  There was a large, warm hand on his thigh and Dean realized that "Any Way you Want It" was pouring from the juke box.  "You tryin' to tell me something, Sammy?" he said with pretend disinterest as he suggestively ran his tongue around the rim of the bottle which then disappeared slowly and ever-so-deliberately between Dean's lips.  His brother stared, transfixed, watching Dean's throat flex as he swallowed.  Dean knew the effect he had on people and he was milking this for all it was worth, all the while staring straight ahead, pretending to be oblivious to what he knew this was doing to his brother.

 

Sam swallowed hard, then got right next to his ear, "Well, it's going to be any way I want it and you just need to be ready to hold on."  Sam's hand squeezed his thigh.  Sam could be so cheesy sometimes.  Dean kinda loved it.

 

Dean took one more swallow, "Promises, promises," and gave his brother a slow smile.  

 

"I don't break promises."

 

"Well, you just need to be ready to put your cock where you mouth is."

 

"Put my what? - Dean, that doesn't even make any sense," Sam moved his hand to Dean's lower back.  " 'Sides," he said quietly, "if I could do that, you'd be out of work."  It was dark in the corner booth Dean had chosen and Sam took advantage of that to run his tongue up the outside of Dean's ear.  Dean closed his eyes and groaned, feeling the heat and precision of his brother's calculated move.  Sam knew _exactly_ what he was doing and Dean was powerless to stop himself from imagining that tongue in so many other places.  Sam's hand rubbed circles on his lower back and in that second, Dean wanted nothing more than to be fucked.  

 

 "It's...not...work....if you love...what you do," Dean managed.  "Time to get out of here," he said, voice rough like the first stones ricocheting downhill in advance of a rock slide.  Sam didn't need to be told twice.

 

________________________________________________

 

Sam pushed the key into the motel room lock.  There was something about Dean in motel rooms that made him hard before he even opened the door.  He'd spent so many years trying to pretend that Dean jerking off in the bed next to him didn't make him come instantly into the sheets...so many years pretending he wasn't looking when Dean shed his clothes and headed for the shower.  Now that he didn't have to hide...being able to do what he'd always wanted to do...with Dean...in a motel room...someplace where this kind of thing had previously been strictly off-limits; something about it made his stamina flag and had him ready to blow if Dean just looked at him in _that_ way.  Fuck.  He'd have to do better tonight.

 

"I think this is everyth - " Dean was cut-off as he walked through the door.  Sam grabbed their bags from him and tossed them onto the table.  Then he grabbed Dean.  Dean pretended he hated it, but he actually loved it when Sam muscled him around.  

 

Sam knew it.

 

Sam pushed him, hard, up against the wall, pinning him with his own body.  Dean was reduced to a shivering mess.  He'd let Sam do anything he wanted to.  

 

Sam knew that too.

 

"That ready, huh?" Sam teased as Dean tried to rub against him.  He kissed along Dean's jaw, feeling the slight stubble and the brush of the longer-than-usual hair over Dean's ears as he worked his way up.

 

"Born ready, Sammy," Dean managed in a deep voice that went directly to Sam's cock.

 

"Oh yeah?" Sam suddenly pulled away, hauling Dean by the belt loops over to the small kitchenette.  He pressed his brother, chest down, onto the hard surface.  "Hands on the counter," he directed.  Dean complied silently.  His secret need to have Sam take control wasn't as much of a secret between them as he would have liked, but Sam still marveled that Dean just _let_ him.  Wanted it even.  Sometimes sex for them was sweet and achingly essential, sometimes it was frantic, and sometimes, it was _this_.

 

The first time they'd been together, like this, rough and physical, Sam had worried he'd gone too far.  Dean, who seemed to enjoy talking dirty, and making those noises that Sam found hotter than hell during sex, had been almost silent.  But after, Dean looked like he'd never felt more relaxed or more satisfied.  It had taken Sam awhile to realize that Dean actually wanted it, needed it like this sometimes.  Needed to give himself over to Sam; trusting his brother not to go too far, but to give him just exactly what he needed.  Sam had grown to realize that Dean's subdued silence during sex like this meant he was letting himself get lost in it.  Focused in on every sensation like a laser.  

 

Sam was never going to break his brother's trust.

 

Dean knew it.

 

He reached around to pull open Dean's fly and he heard him gasp when his fingers grazed his brother's cock through the fabric.  Dean's arms twitched and Sam knew it was taking every ounce of effort for Dean not to try to get a hand on himself.  

 

"Keep 'em on the counter," he growled in Dean's ear before giving a tug and Dean was in his boxer briefs in one smooth motion, jeans tossed aside by Sam's capable hands.

 

"Fuck, Sam," Dean breathed out, as Sam moved into position behind him.  He felt the heat from Dean's back radiating against his own chest as he leaned over, blanketing himself over his brother and cupping Dean through his shorts.  Sam felt him lean into his touch and groan.  He felt the damp fabric and quickly worked his hand under Dean's waistband to set him free.

 

"Not gonna last..." Dean said, voice low.

 

"Oh, you're gonna last," Sam straightened up and undid his painfully tight jeans.  He cursed at his own touch; so fucking sensitive.  He popped the top on the tube he'd kept in his pocket; nice and warm, and squeezed a precise amount into his palm, slicking up his own cock.  He was rock hard.  Seeing Dean like this; naked, body singing with desire, he could tell the wait was agonizing for his brother.  The control he felt and Dean's willingness to obey sent a powerful surge through his nerve endings.

 

"God, need you," Dean hung his head and Sam barely heard him, but no one on this earth was more fluent in "Dean" than Sam.  Most of the world thought Dean Winchester would never _need_ anything.  Sam knew better.  He knew that his brother trusted him enough to let his guard down and actually ask for this.  He trusted that Sam would never see his need to feel connected in this way as weakness.  Sam's heart jumped at the quiet pleading.  He got back behind him and slid his cock between Dean's thighs and up the crack of his ass...just so his brother knew that he'd gotten himself ready.  Dean wordlessly moved one foot further apart from the other; a silent invitation.

 

Sam knew he was big.  He'd known since he was fifteen in the locker room with a bunch of other guys.  Then, he didn't know it was something most guys could only envy.  Back then, it just made him feel like that much more of a freak.  It was embarrassing.  He couldn't control it and getting a hard on at fifteen for your big brother was _not_ cool; mostly he just wished the earth would open up and swallow him.

 

Later, when it was a girl doing the swallowing, he felt like whenever he got some satisfaction, his partner didn't.  She'd gag.  Or be incredibly sore the next day.  He felt like all he did was hurt the girls he cared for.  He was also too shy to talk about it.  Never felt close enough to anyone.  Not really.  Not even Jess.   She was strong-willed and determined; insisting on trying some rather creative positions causing them both to dissolve into laughter when it started looking more like they were playing Twister than having sex.  They tried, but Sam could never really completely let go with her and he could tell that, as much as she wanted it to work, it still left her moving around gingerly the next day. With her, he'd decided it was best to bring her to a screaming, begging, writhing climax with his tongue and take care of himself with his own hand.

 

But two years ago, when he and Dean started what Dean gleefully called "real fucking", Dean had taken one look at the fear on his face and put the brakes on everything.  He wanted to know if someone had hurt him; made him do something he hadn't wanted to do.  Why was Sam scared to try this with him?  And if anyone, at any time, ever, _had_ forced Sam, well, Dean vowed to get up right then and there, hunt them down, and make them suffer like no one had ever suffered before in the entire history of suffering.  Sam shook his head "no" and was surprised to find himself tearing up, his eyes stinging before he realized what was happening.  

 

Dean had pulled him against his chest and told him whatever it was, it was going to be okay.  They'd figure it out.  Talk to him.  So Sam did.  For the first time in his life.  

 

"So, let me get this straight," Dean said quietly when Sam finished talking.  "You're unhappy because you're too _big_?"  

 

Sam started to tell him not to fucking dare make fun of him.  Started getting defensive because he couldn't take his brother teasing him; not about this, but Dean put a hand up to silence him, "Sam, shut up for a minute." He felt Dean rub the back of his neck,  "I feel like I won the fucking lottery okay; are you kidding me?"  With that, Dean had planted a kiss on his lips, "You're fucking perfect, Sam," he whispered to him.  "All of you.  You hear me?"

 

He had nodded, and smiled reluctantly.  "I don't wanna hurt you," he told Dean.

 

"You're not gonna hurt me, Sammy," his brother reassured him.

 

And just like that, for the first time in his life, Sam had someone who wanted to make it good for both of them.  At the same time.  

 

Dean was nothing if not curious.  Sam was the king of morning wood and Dean took advantage of that, actually measuring him one day as he still slept with a pre-dawn glow softly filtering in from the bunker’s overhead skylight in their bedroom.  When Dean reported his findings, _“Ten and a half, Sammy, damn,”_ over coffee later with a practiced nonchalance, Sam’s latte sprayed from his mouth. “You did _what_?!”

 

“Research, Sammy, research,” Dean answered as if he were talking about checking the county records at the library.  But Sam detected a bit of pride in Dean’s voice.  Pride of ownership?  Maybe.  Who the fuck cared.  Sam felt a little pride himself in being owned in this way.  Any residual shame he may have felt over that particular part of his anatomy vaporized, never to return.

 

It turned out that a lot of lube was a good first step.  Dean joked they should "buy stock in that shit".  And if they started slowly, it didn't have to stay slow for long; Dean just needed a minute to adjust.  

 

"Please," Dean was still trying to stay under control, naked, hands on the counter.  His muscles were quivering with the strain of holding still and keeping his hands where Sam had instructed him to keep them.  Seeing his brother in such an intense internal fight between what he wanted to do and what he _would_ do for Sam made Sam's cock twitch against his stomach and release a surge of fluid that ran down into his navel.

 

Sam placed a large hand on Dean's hip and felt him breathe out.  Ready to take him.  He grasped his own slippery cock and rubbed the silky smooth head against his brother's center.  Dean let out a contented sigh and Sam surged in, past the initial resistance.  Dean pushed back until he'd taken him halfway.  Sam fought the always-intense desire to just keep going.  Whenever he was this far, he wanted to be all the way, right away.  But they'd learned what worked for them and as hard as Dean might want to be fucked in a minute or two, they couldn't rush this part.  He could feel his brother's incredibly tight heat surround him as Dean's hands curled into fists on the counter.  Sam gently rubbed his thumb in reassuring, relaxing circles on the back of his brother's hip; firm and steady.   This part was up to Dean and Sam stayed still until Dean pressed back, further and further until his brother's perfect ass was pressed against Sam's abdomen.  Dean was breathing hard and Sam was more or less holding his own breath.  He watched for the signs and soon enough, Dean's hands were relaxed, flat on the counter again and he gave a barely perceptible nod.

 

Sam reached a hand up to Dean's shoulder, keeping the other on his hip as he pulled out until only the head of his cock was teasing into his brother's tight heat.  Dean swallowed hard as Sam thrust the full length of his incredibly hard, wet, cock deep; brushing past Dean's prostate.  The sound Dean choked out reassured Sam that he had the angle just right.   They began to move together.  

 

A pleasure-soaked "Fuck, yeah," shot from Dean's lips to Sam's ears.  When it was like this, that's when Sam felt the difference most sharply.  The before and after.  Before, they weren't allowed to think about this.  Let alone talk about it or act on it.  Keeping that in had made everything strained resulting in a constant low level of tension between them.

 

After?  Giving Dean a good, hard fuck in a motel room lit up every nerve ending in Sam's body as his brain ran a constant loop _of  'finally, yes, need you so fucking bad, there's never been anyone but you, can't believe you let me, always want you to let me...'_   He tightened his grip on his brother's hip and shoulder and felt his cock respond as Dean's body took him like that's what he had been born to do.  It was freedom.  Sam felt he could finally be who he really was.  Love the only person he'd ever really loved.  Give something to Dean that no one else could give him and get something from him that was impossible to get from anyone else.  Sam felt himself swelling and throbbing...so lost in how connected he felt to his brother and amazed that Dean could surround him like this.

 

Dean's warm skin, his muscles working to push and pull Sam ever deeper, his raw need, pure desire for, and singular trust in Sam alone.   Dean was bracing himself against the counter, leg muscles straining, breath coming in gasps.  Sam held him in place and pounded into him.  He pictured his brother's cock, straining in midair in the space in front of the counter, completely rigid, no doubt feeling the warm burn from the trickle of hot liquid that Sam's pounding was most assuredly wringing out of him.  

 

Just because Dean wasn't saying a word didn't mean he wasn't listening.  His brother wasn't tuned out.  If anything, he was more focused.  Sam let some of his thoughts escape his lips as he pressed into his brother as deep as he could possibly go.  

 

"Love you so fuckin' much..." Dean tightened around him and Sam could easily gauge what effect his words were having on him. 

 

"Never been this good for me with anyone else...."  The muffled, intimate sound Dean made as Sam pulled back and slammed home almost made him lose it.  

 

"Never been anyone else but you..."  Dean dropped his head and smacked his open palm down desperately on the counter.  

 

"So fuckin' hard for you, Dean..." Dean threw his head back and rolled his hips, taking him so deep that Sam cried out, recovering in time to say what was, perhaps, the most meaningful thing he could say to his brother;  

 

"Always... trusted... you... with…everything..."  Dean pressed back sharply again which Sam took to mean he wanted it as hard and fast as Sam could give it to him.  He didn't know if he could go any harder, any faster, but he tried.  After all they'd been through and all the wasted years of longing, he'd make sure that his big brother would always get everything he could give him.  Everything he wanted.  

 

"No one ever took care of me like you...fuckin' need you down to my fucking soul."  That got a small, stifled cry out of Dean.  Sam was sparking to the point of ignition.

 

Then he felt it.

 

"Sammy?" Dean rasped out. 

 

Sam pressed himself against Dean's back, "I feel it too," he breathed  "Oh, God, Dean".  

 

It didn't happen every time.  Hell, it didn't happen one in forty times.  It was unpredictable.  It didn't happen if he thought too hard about it.  As far as Sam could tell, it had something to do with letting go and complete trust, and, oddly enough, grabbing onto each other, but it was still a mystery.  He slowed his strokes ever so slightly, but pushed his full length impossibly deep over and over.  He could feel Dean was getting close.  Closing down strong around him.  Sam reached both hands up, putting them over Dean's on the counter.  He interlaced his fingers with his brother's, their rings hitting together, and that's when it hit them both.  The electrical current in a white-hot surge moving through Sam as he groaned on his deepest thrust and crashing into Dean in a powerful flood of bright, raw, liquid need.  

 

The sensation went coursing through Dean's balls, exploding from his untouched cock in pulsing alternating currents of release.  Dean cried out with a sound that seemed to be wrenched from his core.

 

Sam could feel Dean contracting around him as he kept fucking into his own thick release, deep inside his brother, into what felt like an increased level of electrical conductivity crackling between their connected bodies in the intensified slick push and pull.  Dean pressed back onto Sam's still-plunging cock, rolling his hips to feel every surge.

 

"Jesus...fuck...Sammy," Dean's voice was raw; completely emotionally wrecked.  Finally, they began to slow, in unison, until Sam felt like their trembling legs might give out on them and send them both crashing to the floor.  

 

Sam was still plastered against Dean's heaving back; his hands molded over his brother's on the counter, gripping him so hard he hoped he hadn't broken anything.  Sweat trickled from between their bodies as they fought for breath.  Sam shakily, slowly, and with great effort peeled his hands off his brother's and pulled out, his spent but heavy cock hitting his thigh with a soft, wet thud; a trail of Sam's come slicking Dean's inner thigh.

 

Dean had his forehead on the counter now, eyes closed.  "Hey," Sam said gently, running his hand down his brother’s spine and rubbing the small of his back which was as red as Sam's abdomen from the friction.  Dean barely raised his head, just enough to give Sam some sign of life.  Sam wrapped an arm around Dean and pressed his open palm against his chest, helping him straighten up.  Dean actually stumbled slightly on his near-useless legs as Sam supported him and got him over to the bed.  He laid Dean down, noticing the drops of pearly white fluid on his brother's chest and stomach.  He bent down and kissed along the slick line until he felt Dean's hands urging him up to meet his lips.  They kissed slow and tender, Dean's tongue sliding over his own come in Sam's mouth.  Like some kind of fucking electrical conductor, Sam felt a slight buzzing sensation as their tongues explored. He felt, more than saw, his brother smile.

 

"What in the goddamn fuck's that, S'my?" he mumbled, not wanting to stop the kissing long enough to get the words out properly.

 

"I dunno," Sam drawled back, pulling away slightly to Dean's grunted protest when their lips lost contact. "I think it's us," he said simply, pressing back in to his brother's welcoming mouth and they kept at it until the slow buzz started to weaken.

 

Sam stretched out next to Dean on the bed, Dean's arm under his head, his head on Dean's shoulder.  His favorite place in this whole Goddamn world.  He lightly ran a finger over Dean's chest, causing his brother to shiver and he felt Dean him pull him closer. "Seriously, Sammy," Dean said, voice tinged with satisfied exhaustion, "are you doing that?"

 

"It's not me," Sam said quietly, "It's us.  Something about us together sometimes.  I don't know when it's gonna happen.  Do you?"

 

"Nope; not until right before it hits," Dean replied.

 

"Yeah, me too," Sam thought for a minute.  "You know, the first time I felt it was that time with you and Gill."

 

"Me too," Dean turned his head to look at Sam, "When you grabbed my arm and I fucking blew just because you had your hand on me."

 

"I think it has something to do with trusting; really letting go, it unleashes...something."

 

"I think we oughtta work on unleashing it more often," Dean smiled and kissed Sam on the bridge of his nose.  "Next time, you get to keep your hands on the counter though."

 

"Deal," Sam surged up and grabbed Dean's lower lip with his teeth as Dean rolled him on top so Sam could blanket his brother and kiss him as deep as he wanted for as long as he wanted.

 

_______________________________________________________

 

When the last of whatever the fuck that sensation between them was had subsided and Sam had recovered to the point where he could stand, he slowly got to his feet and made his way to the shower.  Dean had drifted off into a completely relaxed, just-got-fucked-into-next-week sleep and Sam was going to let him get some rest.  His brother rarely slept as well as he did after they had done, well, _that_ , and this particular side-effect was part of what made the whole thing so amazing.  Dean often needed the sleep almost as much as he needed Sam to make him let go like no one else could.  

 

The hot water of the shower hit Sam's hand and he felt a burning sensation.  He moved his ring slightly, and, sure enough, there was a pale red band circling his finger underneath.  What...the...fuck.  Whatever that _thing_ was, it wasn't all in his head.  The heat?  It was a real, physical phenomenon.  It had given him the equivalent of a low-level sunburn under the super-conductivity of the white gold.  Definitely.  They would definitely have to figure this out.  

 

For now, he was grateful for the soreness, reminding him of what he and Dean had just done together.  Of what they _were_ together now.

 

_______________________________________________________

 

Sam slid into a clean pair of sweats, damp hair hanging in his eyes.  He'd given himself the luxury of a long shower; even actually got off again remembering how Dean had looked, glistening with sweat and moving with him, hands on the counter...because Sam told him to keep them there.  Sam didn't think he had anything left in the tank, but he'd painted the turquoise blue tile with white streaks, Dean's name on his lips.

 

He moved across the room as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb his brother's rare, peaceful slumber.  He carefully sat down on the edge of the second bed.

 

"Took long enough, princess."  A deep and sleepy-relaxed voice came from the bed Dean occupied.  "Whaddya think you're doing?"

 

"Uh, going to bed, Dean?"

 

"Not over there you're not."  Sam wasn't sure, but Dean sounded like he was still half under.

 

"You need your rest, go back to sleep," Sam replied quietly.

 

"How 'm I gonna know when it's time to get up without your blue steel poking me in the back, huh Sammy?"  Dean fell silent and Sam thought maybe he'd drifted off again. "You gonna make me beg?"  

 

Guess he hadn't drifted off.  Sam felt a warmth in his gut as he padded over to his brother and slid in under the sheets behind him.

 

"Atta boy," Dean breathed out, settling back against him.

 

"You smell like sex," Sam breathed in the scent at the back of his brother's neck.

 

"N whose fault is that....cowboy...."  Dean's breathing deepened "you smell...like....soap.   Smell...so....good....love you.....Sammy....."  Dean's breathing turned measured and even and he was out, his back pressed against the solid warmth of Sam's chest.

 

Sam draped an arm over him.  He was exhausted yet satisfied on a cellular level.  His arm around everything he ever wanted, he breathed deeply, inhaling the recorded inventory of their night together that lingered in his brother's pores and in the soft brush of hair ticking his nose.

 

___________________________________________________

 

Next thing he knew, he felt a hand around him, or, more specifically, around his cock, which had, dependably, been poking his brother in the back.  Dean had rolled to face him, reaching easily inside his sweats, easing them down. "Rise and shine, Sammy," Dean whispered with less-than-alluring morning breath that Sam was more than willing to forgive, considering what he was waking up to was even better than what he had been dreaming about.  His brother was there for him, always, wanting to _give_ and getting off on doing it.  "Oh, I guess you just have to shine, 'cause you've got the 'rise' part covered."  Dean kissed Sam's pulse in his neck and Sam pressed up, involuntarily, into his brother's lazy grasp.  "Think my wrist could use a workout," Dean teased. “Think you could help me with that?”

 

Sam cracked an eye open to see his brother smirking, the soft light of morning filtering through the thin curtains and illuminating Dean's bed head like a halo.  Sam thought he looked like a thoroughly gorgeous, thoroughly fuckable angel.  His brother's expression turned soft but determined as he got down to business, stroking Sam off in long, languid, fluid motions.  Dean was tuned in to Sam's body; watching and responding in perfect lock step, slowing down just to watch him groan and buck when he started up the pace again; more intense because of the momentary lull.  He watched, studied Sam just the way Sam knew he would, and sped up at the perfect time until Sam's breath caught in his throat, only allowing him to breathe out, "Dean...." before he pressed up into the warm, tight fist and let go, flooding the small space between them.  "Yeah, Sammy," Dean kept stroking, "God, just like that," and Sam was sorry he had his eyes closed because he missed watching Dean's face when he bit his lower lip, stiffened for a split second, and, “I’m gonna…fuck," Sam's cock felt warm as his brother pulsed onto him.  He wished he'd seen it.  But he was probably going to get another chance...in a few minutes...when they shared a shower.  And if it didn't happen then, well, there was always tomorrow. Sam's morning hard-ons _were_ about as reliable as an alarm clock.

 

_______________________________________________________

 

Four days later...

 

Sam was tired and dusty from the long ride home.  He checked the mailbox.  The bunker got more mail than one would expect.  It was kind of the forgotten form of communication; immune to electronic surveillance meaning hunters loved it.  He bundled the stack together and tossed it onto the main table where it immediately reverted to its original state, scattering, disorganized, across the surface.  

 

He walked to the room he and Dean shared and threw his duffle onto the single king bed.  There was studying, and there were messages piled up on the machine from other hunters.  But he had something he had to do first.  Sam checked the pantry to make sure he still had a few cans of cherries.  Yup, he was good.  There was going to be a pie in Dean's future the next time he walked through that door.  Sam sat down heavily in one of the chairs around the main table.  He pulled out his laptop.  

 

When the deafening silence of the bunker was softened by some Pearl Jam emanating from his iTunes library, he cast a glance at the spread-out pile of mail.

 

There were a couple letters, and, what the hell, a fucking postcard?  Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten an honest-to-God postcard.  The front had a photo of "Roxborough State Park Overlook at Sunset".  A grin broke across his face.  He flipped it over:

 

Best night off ever.

Be home soon.

D

 

P.S.

Now you can't say "you never write".

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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